


Second Intention

by TheGooseBot



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Bodily Fluids, Fantasizing, Flirting, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Violence, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Swordfighting, Swordplay, Valve Fingering (Transformers), Valves and Spikes, minor sexual tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2020-08-23 12:56:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20243245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGooseBot/pseuds/TheGooseBot
Summary: “I know you’re there, Dreadwing,” Optimus called out, “you may come out now.”The forest grew still – quiet – until Dreadwing stepped out from behind the boulder, drawing his sword.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _**Second Intention**: A tactic in which a fencer executes a convincing, yet false, action in hopes of drawing a true, committed reaction from their opponent._  


“And what was it you wished to show me, Soundwave?” Megatron rasped, walking over to the spy master’s section of the Bridge. 

Soundwave’s long digits tapped at the various buttons on the control panel before him, summoning a screen that displayed a topographic map of the Rocky Mountains. The section in question was one where Dreadwing had been sent to investigate a possible energon cache, and appeared on the screen as a red ‘blip’. But he wasn’t alone: a blue ‘blip’ was on the screen as well. When Soundwave’s cursor clicked on the ‘blip’, it revealed Optimus Prime’s signature.

Megatron raised a brow, intrigued to find his arch-nemesis without support. An idea came to him that made the tyrant flash his toothy-smile. 

:: Dreadwing? :: Megatron called, his eyes following his lieutenant’s energy-signature on the screen.

:: Yes, my liege? :: the flyer responded swiftly.

:: Optimus Prime is within your coordinates, :: the warlord informed, :: I believe, he too, is seeking out the same energon vein as we are. I want you to follow him and only engage if necessary, is that clear? ::  


:: Understood, Lord Megatron. ::

* * *

After Soundwave sent Dreadwing Optimus Prime’s exact coordinates, he proceeded to track the Autobot’s leader on foot. The forest’s tranquility was tarnished by the mech’s attempt at stealth, though he could only hope that the sound of his heavy footfalls could be mistaken for thunder overhead, for the clouds were thick and allowed very little sunlight through. 

He found the Prime – alone, just like Megatron had said – and kept a fair distance from him. He was easy to spot, for his bright red-and-blue paint-job stood out from the green of the conifers. There was a scanner in his hands; no doubt a device for detecting energon. Dreadwing continued to survey the Prime, ducking behind boulders that were deposited through the woodlands from long ago.

It was strange how Optimus displayed no signs of urgency in his mission. It was almost as if this was just a leisurely stroll from him – a mere ‘hike in the woods’. 

Suddenly, Optimus stopped. Dreadwing held his intake and hid himself behind one of the boulders, waiting to hear the Prime continue. The Con placed a hand on the handle of his sword and listened carefully. 

“I know you’re there, Dreadwing,” Optimus called out, “you may come out now.” 

The forest grew still – quiet – until Dreadwing stepped out from behind the boulder, drawing his sword. 

“I am impressed, Optimus Prime.” Dreadwing adjusted his grip on the handle. “How did you know it was I who was following you?”

Optimus smiled and stowed the scanner into his sub-space, “you’re one of the few Decepticons that I know of who has the patience to track me in such a manner.” His facemask snapped together and drew out his own sword: ready for combat.

Dreadwing gave a battle cry before charging at Optimus, who quickly stepped backwards: seeking out a more leveled battlefield, for more stable footing. The Decepticon Lieutenant caught up to him in an instant, using one of the boulders to leap off from. Their swords met, and Optimus was able to use his upper-body strength to send Dreadwing away from him. 

The flyer rolled into a slide: kicking up pine-needles, dirt, and twigs. When the dust settled, he was quick to charge Optimus again. Their swords clashed, frightening whatever wildlife still remained in the area. Birds evacuated hastily as their swords rang out sharply throughout the evergreens. 

Their duel leads them to a clearing at the foot of a young mountain: the perfect, natural arena. With no obstacles in their way, Optimus and Dreadwing matched move-for-move. Each swing of their blades is well-timed and carefully, yet forcefully executed. Overtime, their erratic maneuvers evolve into strategic thrusts and parries.

They were no longer fighting to terminate each other: they were fencing.

After one’s move had finished with no results, the other would try their own attempt, and instantly backpedal when their turn had ended. They circled each other, formulating their next move while keeping their guard up.

“You fight well, Optimus,” Dreadwing’s wings fluttered, “It will be a shame to lose such an adversary who respects the blade as much as I.”

“Oh, Dreadwing,” Optimus stood still, “I take comfort in knowing it will never be you to vanquish me, at least not now – not like this.” 

“And what makes you so certain?” Dreadwing stopped moving as well, yet remained ready to strike. 

“Who would you duel with, if not I? Wheeljack?”

“… No,” Dreadwing smirked, “he is unrefined and wild, whereas you are… quite the opposite.” 

“Oh?” 

“You show a great amount of restraint. It is almost as if your sword is an extension of yourself.” To make up for his compliment, Dreadwing lunged at Optimus. Their swords scraped against each other and they were at it again.

“You are quite the swordsman yourself,” Optimus praised, “there is a great amount of discipline in your technique. Yet there is one thing you lack that Wheeljack has taught me.” 

Dreadwing snorted, “And what might that be?” he leapt, swinging his sword at his opponent.

Optimus dodged Dreadwing’s blade once more, and ran at the rock-wall, his challenger in hot pursuit. He ran up the first few yards of the wall and flipped over Dreadwing. By the time the Decepticon turned around, Optimus had already landed behind him; his blade pointed at the flyer’s throat. 

“That would be ‘style’.” Optimus answered. 

Dreadwing blinked down at the worn shaft of Optimus’ sword and smirked. 

“It was an honor to duel with you, Dreadwing.” The Prime nodded, backing Dreadwing up against the stony wall he had just scaled.

“No.” In an instant, Dreadwing brought forth his blade to disarm Optimus. His claws fastened to the Autobot’s throat and traded places with him in an instant, pinning him against the rocks with his own body.

“The honor is mine.” Dreadwing rumbled. 

Optimus’ mask drew away, though he made no attempt to move. They stared at each other, panting softly from the exertion of their fight. They could hear each other’s cooling-fans struggling to push out the excess hot air from their vents. The Prime smiled gently, tiredly. He brought his servo up and slipped his digits in-between Dreadwing’s claws, removing them gently from his neck.

The touch was so tender that a purr slipped from Dreadwing. He drew closer towards the Prime, knee slowly slipping in between his legs…

:: Dreadwing, :: Megatron’s voice interrupted, crackling over the flyer’s comm. link, :: You are to return to the Nemesis at once. ::

Dreadwing curled his lip in disappointment, :: Yes, my Lord. :: 

He backed away from Optimus, almost reluctant to do so. He untwined their fingers, only now realizing that his other servo had slid down from his enemy’s shoulder to his waist, where it lingered a little longer. The flyer picked up his sword and holstered it, not sparing Optimus another glance.

Optimus retrieved his own sword, still somewhat tickled by their exchange. “I look forward to our next meeting.” he said, just as Dreadwing was preparing to transform. 

Dreadwing paused, then turned slightly, and looked at Optimus out from the corner of his eye.

“As do I.” 

Dreadwing ran for the edge of the clearing, transforming at the last second. He soared upwards and Optimus watched him disappear into the clouds.


	2. Avertissement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Commander Dreadwing, Sir," the Vehicon saluted, "Lord Megatron has requested your presence on the bridge."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Avertissement**: A warning; used to indicate a minor rule infraction by one of the fencers._  
**\- - -**  
What was originally a one-shot now has more chapters! Idk how many, but here's chapter two! Now with 100% more E-rating! Additional tags have also been added. You may notice some more pairings too! 
> 
> Enjoy!

The billowing cumulus clouds had darkened considerably by the time the Nemesis came into Dreadwing's view: a small, thorny speck, dwarfed by the vastness of the growing storm. Lightning flickered among the thunderheads, while small pellets of ice _pinged_ off of his frame. The frost had no time to gather against the glass of the cockpit or even his wingtips, for Dreadwing's plating was too warm to allow it.

He flew in silently, still bitter and restless from having his moment with Optimus Prime interrupted by Megatron. Even now, he could recall the gentleness of the Prime's fingers as they slowly peeled his claws away from delicate neck cables.

It was maddening to be still lingering over such thoughts, yet Dreadwing couldn't help but indulge in them until he landed on the Nemesis' runway. He transformed effortlessly out of his jet-mode and entered the ship with a briskness to his step, nodding curtly to the Vehicons that welcomed him back.

Without the wind circulating fresh air throughout his body, the controlled temperature of the warship made it uncomfortably apparent to Dreadwing how warm his plating was. It was nothing a cold shower couldn't solve. A trip to the washrack sounded divine, for there was also dirt and pine needles still stuck within his transformation seams. Grooming would surely take his mind off of things.

He had just turned down the corridor leading to the private washracks (reserved for the higher-ups) when a Vehicon finally caught up with him.

"Commander Dreadwing, Sir," the Vehicon saluted, "Lord Megatron has requested your presence on the bridge."

Dreadwing's servo hovered over the key-pad. _Of course_, Megatron would request his audience; he remembered the tint of urgency in his master's voice when he had told him to return. He debated on telling the drone to let their Lord know he would report in due time, but his obedience refused to make such a call.

"Tell Lord Megatron I am on my way," Dreadwing replied.

"Well, actually, I am here to escort you."

"I assure you, solider, that I do not need an escort."

"Understood, Commander, Sir," the drone fidgeted, "But Lord Megatron wishes it."

Dreadwing's optics brightened. Megatron had a drone sent to _accompany him_ to the bridge? Surely, had the warlord requested his presence over the comm link, he would've acknowledged the call as respectfully as possible. But to think a drone was assigned the task of bringing him to the bridge. And for what? To be debriefed? To have his capabilities questioned?

It was like a jab to the spark as his processor lingered on the notion. Suddenly, his irritation ebbed. If Megatron was doubtful of him, then one could only assume it was for a good reason.

"So be it," Dreadwing straightened, "Lead on."

The Vehicon saluted once again before trying to figure out if it was acceptable to lead Dreadwing, or if he should walk beside his superior. He settled on the latter and fell into stride with the larger mech, unaware of the flurry of thoughts swarming in Dreadwing's mind.

* * *

"You wished to see me, Lord Megatron?" Dreadwing asked.

The bridge hummed quietly. The other Vehicons working at their posts paused to wordlessly address Dreadwing's arrival before returning to the consoles before them. The tapping of digits against buttons echoed softly throughout the room as they competed against the heavier footfalls from Dreadwing.

Megatron stood behind Soundwave, stationed at his usual spot. The monitor screen that towered over them displayed several topographic maps of Earth and complex calculations. The spymaster sifted through them too quickly, and they flashed away before Dreadwing had a chance to register anything.

"Indeed," Megatron turned slightly to look over Dreadwing, "You are usually so punctual with reporting back to me once you've touched down with the ship that when you failed to do so, I admit I was... concerned."

Dreadwing bowed his head, "My apologies, Lord Megatron. It was not my intention to cause such trouble. I did not want to disgrace your presence with a dirty frame."

Megatron hummed and waved his claws, "One would expect such things, especially after battling in such an environment."

Suddenly, the monitored displayed aerial surveillance footage of Dreadwing and Optimus' fight in the clearing. It startled Dreadwing that such footage existed. He watched the screen, doing his best to feign his surprise.

"You see, I ordered Soundwave to deploy Laserbeak," Megatron began, "Not just to supervise you in case you needed reinforcements, but to locate the energon-mine that Optimus had been seeking before you distracted him so _properly_."

The footage showed how the pace of their fight changed from erratic lunges to polished maneuvers as if following a set of rules - rules that a gladiator such as Megatron wouldn't understand (or at least that's what Dreadwing assumed).

"I did not want to risk overexerting myself," Dreadwing defended, "Hence why I decided to change my pace."

"You and Optimus must have shared the same thought, for you both changed your demeanors as if you were in sync."

"I admit, I wasn't expecting the Prime to match my tactics, but I can assure you it was a coincidence," Dreadwing promised earnestly.

Megatron eyed Dreadwing once again before he directed his attention back towards the footage. Dreadwing did the same. He bit the inside of his cheek as he recognized the current scene. They were in the middle of praising each other's skills. In a few minutes, he would pin Optimus to the cliffside. His spark pounded loudly within its chamber. If Laserbeak had documented his moment with Optimus, then surely Megatron would call him out on his questionable behavior.

But it didn't happen. An alert flashed in the corner of Laserbeak's field of vision, directing him away from the fight and over towards a section of the rugged mountain range. A set of coordinates formed, and an arrow pointed at the area in question.

"Is that...?" Dreadwing blinked. He was familiar with the way Laserbeak reported an Energon reading, but the numbers were irregular and muddled.

"The Energon-mine Optimus Prime was searching for?" Megatron finished his subordinate's inquiry, "So it would seem. That is why I am sending you out in several cycles from now to investigate it. The cover of night should aid you well, seeing how stealth is one of your strong suits."

"Understood, my Liege." Dreadwing bowed for a second time, "I will not fail you."

Megatron purred as he signaled for Dreadwing to rise, "You will report to the debriefing room for further instructions. Soundwave will provide you with any additional information. Now go." dismissed the warmonger.

Dreadwing saluted. He turned on his heel, set on returning to the washrack to calm himself.

"Oh, and Dreadwing?" Megatron called.

"Yes, my Lord-" Dreadwing froze.

The video footage had been playing this whole time. The screen displayed Dreadwing pinning Optimus up against the cliffside and how they lingered against each other. Megatron, not bothering to turn around, could already guess the expression on the other Decepticon's face.

"If you engage the enemy during your mission, try not getting so _comfortable_ with them, hm?" Megatron grinned, "Enjoy your shower, Lieutenant. That will be all."

* * *

Dreadwing skipped the washrack completely, despite the dried mud that crusted his peds and the gravel stuck in his seams. If he was returning to Earth hours from now, what did it matter to be clean?

The warmth that prickled underneath his plating never left him. It only grew more pronounced during his meeting with Megatron, especially while re-watching his encounter with Optimus.

He ignored the politeness of the Vehicons he passed in the corridor. He wanted to return to his quarters immediately, to remedy his discomfort and his agitation.

Once inside, Dreadwing hastily locked the door. He pressed the side of his helm against it and listened, waiting for the last of the muffled footsteps of a passing patrol to leave the corridor. When all fell silent, he released his spike with a sigh of relief.

It wasn't fully pressurized, yet in its semi-flaccid state, it twitched and ached for attention. Dreadwing eyed his berth but found himself unable to settle down against it. Instead, he leaned his back against the door and allowed his optics to dim offline as he reached down to stroke himself.

He pushed back the thought of Megatron's knowledge regarding the events that transpired between himself and the Prime. Instead, he imagined how he would've taken Optimus, had they not been so rudely disrupted. He would've ravished him. His knee would've ground itself against the Prime's panel, enticing the Autobot to surrender himself further.

Dreadwing's fans spun a little faster as he continued to pump his cable. His mouth fell open slightly, a silent groan escaping him and joining the hot air that being pushed out from his vents.

His fantasy continued. If Optimus did not desire his claws fastened to his throat, then Dreadwing would've bitten at the curve of the mech's neck. He'd be careful not to leave any visible marks for Optimus' medic to notice upon inspection when he returned to base. But, if he had left a welt behind, much to the Prime's dismay, then Dreadwing would've slid his glossa against it. Maybe even suckle at the sensitive plating there: anything to get a taste of him.

By this point, Dreadwing had set up a fair pace for himself. His spike continued to pressurize. The bio-lights that ran down the sides of his length pulsed in-time with the increased energon flow. Dreadwing drew a shaky breath and quickened his servo, paying attention to the sensitive head of his spike.

He would've tortured Optimus. If his knee didn't summon the Autobot's valve to him, then the tips of his claws would've sought out the wires that would trigger the modesty-panel's override protocol.

And Optimus would've been wet, although not wet enough to handle his spike. Perhaps he'd coax the Prime into wettening his claws with his mouth. Or, with time against them, he would've gone straight to rutting against the slickened entrance. Dreadwing pictured the tip of his spike sliding up against Optimus' anterior node. He imagined the twitch of Optimus' valve as it wantonly throbbed, the Autobot losing himself to desire.

Dreadwing growled, now jerking himself off with urgency as the pleasure boiling behind his spike-housing grew.

He would've hoisted Optimus into his arms, forcing him to wrap his legs around his waist and sink his spike inside of the welcoming heat of the needy mech's valve. He would've only started fragging Optimus once his spike was hilted - once the tip of his cable was pressing against the back of the truck's searing port.

He would've bounced Optimus on his cable, hungry for release. He wanted to mark Megatron's nemesis. He wanted Optimus to mewl out his designation as he pounded him against that damned cliffside.

Dreadwing's overload claimed him in an almost violent manner. Spurts of transfluid shot out in uneven succession and splattered against the floor. He continued his erotic ministrations, for he was still imaging filling Optimus Prime to his limits.

Wisps of steam rose out from Dreadwing's seams while beads of condensation evaporated from the flyer's hot plating. Spent, Dreadwing slid to the floor, yet his servo lazily continued working his spike.

He wouldn't have pulled out of Optimus. Not just yet. He would've continued pumping his hips, bent on emptying every last drop of himself. Of course, Optimus would've overloaded in time with him. Dreadwing expected nothing less of such an excellent leader. When his legs grew tired, he would've sat down with Optimus still in his lap, and his spike still embedded inside of him.

Dreadwing slid to the floor, exhausted. His spike, now satisfied, was already beginning to depressurize. The Decepticon stared at himself, and the stains left on the floor, panting softly as more hot air seeped from his vents.

To pleasure oneself so shamelessly stuck to Dreadwing's body like the dry mud, now revived thanks to the newly formed moisture coating him. His head hit the door with a soft _thunk_ while his servos rested on either side of him.

He mused to himself once more. Perhaps he would've kissed the Prime. Maybe they would've spoken about their encounter and what it meant to them.

However, seeing himself now - fragrant and filthy - maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to head over to the washrack before his mission tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Chapter Title: MeatBeatMania.jpg :U 
> 
> \+ Huuugeee shoutout to StarlightCaptivator for reading over this chapter! (Go read their fics!!)
> 
> \+ If my brain likes to spell out a word, then that word will appear very frequently. In this case, it was 'lingered' lol. 
> 
> \+ I'm not too sure when the next chapter will be out, but I can safely say there will be at least three more chapters planned & this story will not end after those three chapters.
> 
> Thank you all for reading! C:


	3. Remise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a feeling Optimus wanted to pursue. He didn't want to rely on self-servicing to get the job done. He wanted someone else to spoil him. But how likely was that? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
**_Remise_**_: immediate replacement of an attack that missed or was parried, without withdrawing the arm._  
\- - -  
Thank you once again to the lovely StarlightCaptivator for looking over my fic ;w;  
Thank you for reading! c: 

:: Ratchet? I require a ground-bridge..:: requested Optimus Prime, his optics glued to the section of the sky where he had last seen Dreadwing before his form vanished within the clouds.

:: Another false energon reading, I presume? :: Ratchet asked, disappointment tinting his voice.

:: Not exactly...:: 

:: Alright, stay put. I'm locking onto your coordinates.::

Optimus waited. In all honesty, he could have resumed tracking down the energon signal, but all the Prime could think about was his encounter with Dreadwing.

He and the Decepticon Lieutenant had fought in the past before with such vigor and enthusiasm. However, this was the first battle where Optimus was left somewhat dazed, as if a fog rolled in, throwing off his senses. He still felt Dreadwing's presence around him, even in his absence; his plating tingled strangely from the memory of the Decepticon's hand trailing down his side, cupping the curve of his waist. 

Something stirred within Optimus: an intimate warmth that developed from the depths of his sensory-network and washed over him in slow, tantalizing waves. He knew exactly what was happening to him. Rather than feel as if things were inappropriate, he felt aroused. It didn't help that his memory-banks kept returning to the way Dreadwing handled him in their last moments together. 

Distracted, Optimus would've remained where he was if the ground-bridge hadn't materialized from across the clearing. He holstered his sword and walked into the swirling, bright-green vortex; his steps sluggish from the excitement simmering within his circuits.

It was a feeling Optimus wanted to pursue. He didn't want to rely on self-servicing to get the job done. He wanted someone else to spoil him. But how likely was that?   
  


* * *

  
The moment he stepped foot through the other end of the ground-bridge, Optimus fought to compose himself before Ratchet, trying his best to push away his wanton desires. But Ratchet was an insightful mech. The ambulance had only spared Optimus a glance while closing the portal when he found the Prime's demeanor somewhat odd; forcing him to double-take. 

"Optimus? Are you alright?" Ratchet approached his leader, his mood shifting from sullen to concerned as if someone had flipped a switch. 

Optimus answered with a reassuring smile, "I might have overexerted myself; that is all." 

"Doing _ what? _ " Ratchet questioned. He gave Optimus a quick once over: his trained optics spotting the dents on his plating, the flecks of red paint gone missing, and the speckles of energon on his neck, which Optimus tried to hide with his servo. " _ Optimu _ s _ Prime _ , ** what ** happened to you?" his tone was firm now as if he were about to reprimand a sparkling for poor manners.

Optimus knew there was no avoiding it now. He surrendered with a quiet sigh, "I encountered Dreadwing, and-"

"Dreadwing?!" Ratchet squawked, "Why didn't you call me? I would've sent for reinforcements!" 

"It was nothing I couldn't handle myself," Optimus informed, "And besides, if reinforcements were to arrive, then Dreadwing may have done the same. I was not looking to invest in a larger fight than necessary."

Ratchet huffed. Optimus was right; with their energon stores running low, they couldn't risk wasting their dwindling stores on an avoidable fire-fight. But that still didn't mean Ratchet would let Optimus off the hook so easily. 

"At least let me give you a proper look," Ratchet frowned, "I mean, from what I've spotted, the damage done appears to be mostly superficial. Although I would like to give you a more thorough examination: something seems _ off _ about you." 

"I assure you, it's nothing _ that _ serious," Optimus assured, trying his best to convince the medic to forfeit the idea. 

"Humor me, Optimus." Ratchet grumped. "Now go sit yourself down, I just need my patch-kit, that's all." 

Submissively, Optimus slunk to the medic's corner of the room. The tingling heat persisted, growing steadily within the pit of his abdomen. Just sitting down on the examination table gave his interface-array false hope that _ this _ was where he'd finally receive satisfaction. 

Ratchet was prompt with retrieving his patch-kit. He wheeled over a surgical lamp and pulled its head down, close enough to examine the frayed wires on Optimus' neck. The bulb, despite its weakness, was enough to waver a slight look of discomfort on the Prime's face. He was already running warm, and it was only becoming harder to keep his cooling-fans from activating; what with how Ratchet's hands carefully touched his neck.

The feeling triggered the memory of Dreadwing's claws on his throat. His spark fluttered as he struggled to keep still.

"Does the light bother you?" Ratchet's concentration never faltered as he repaired the damaged wiring with a nanite-spray. 

"Ah, no. I am fine."

"So, you've said." Ratchet held a servo out over one of Optimus' vents, "Yet you're expelling more hot air than normal." 

Ratchet reached into his kit for a thermo-scanner to gauge how widespread the heat was. By this point, the Prime knew there was no way to keep his predicament a secret. He reached up, tenderly taking ahold of Ratchet's servo. The medic was perplexed. He looked at Optimus' gentle, docile smile for a reason as to why the Prime was guiding the scanner downwards, to hover over his abdomen. 

The device's needle quivered. The temperature reading spiked, and the machine beeped.

Ratchet furrowed his brow, lost until he realized _ what _his leader was trying to tell him. 

"_ You' re--?! _ " Ratchet sputtered, "For Primus' sake, Optimus! From fighting _ Dreadwing?! _"

Optimus swallowed dryly, "No, not from that. I thought I had been keeping track of my heat-cycle, but it looks as if I miscounted." He twitched under Ratchet's surprised, yet suspicious gaze, though under such circumstances, the medic thankfully couldn't decipher a lie from embarrassment. 

"Then I suggest you keep to your quarters until it passes," Ratchet prescribed, "Either that or a cold shower. When was the last time you drank something-"

"Actually...," Optimus slid his hand down to the medic's wrist, where he stroked the plating, "I was - _ ah _ \- hoping for your assistance." 

Ratchet was taken aback by the proposition, "O-Optimus! Surely you can't expect me as your _ medic _...!" he struggled to find the words, embarrassment overtaking him. 

"That is why I am asking you as my _ friend _." 

"But, I'm not even in the _ mood! _" Ratchet blushed, "And anyone could call in for a ground-bridge at any moment! Or what if Agent Fowler decided to drop by?" 

"Then, best to be quick." 

Ratchet knew Optimus' stubbornness very well and surrendered with an exasperated sigh, "Fine. Get yourself ready then." He hurriedly walked over to the storage cabinets embedded within the cavern walls, trading in his patch-kit for a tub of lubricant that he kept hidden in the back. After checking its freshness, Ratchet returned to Optimus.

The Prime wasted little time in having his legs spread out for him; valve-cover open. Ratchet bit his lip, trying to maintain some shred of professionalism as he unscrewed the cap from the tub and dabbed his digits into the lubricant.

Optimus watched Ratchet coating his fingers thoroughly with the gel, mesmerized and eager. 

"I would prefer your spike...," Optimus admitted, pouting.

"_ Yip, yip, yip! _ " Ratchet cast his leader a steady look, "Need I remind you that time is _ not _ on our side? Honestly, Optimus..." 

The Prime was about to protest before Ratchet's digits teasingly traced the rim of his valve, silencing him instantly. When those talented digits began to massage the hot entrance, he purred deeply, delighted to finally receive the attention his body had been craving. Ratchet worked quietly, yet swiftly, noting how slick and swollen Optimus was beneath his fingertips. 

They had interfaced before: recreationally and for reasons such as this. Having worked Optimus' valve in the past, he knew precisely where his sweet spots were. While he thumbed the anterior node, Ratchet dipped a digit inside, pulling a louder rumble from the Prime's engine.

He stroked the walls of the valve, searching for sensor nodes to stimulate. A second finger soon worked its way inside with no resistance. They curled rapidly, loosening Optimus further. It always amazed the Prime how Ratchet was capable of working his valve as well as his anterior node simultaneously, his pace never faltering as he scissored his digits apart. 

"_ Ratchet _...," Optimus shivered. He propped himself up onto his elbow so he could reach down and hold the medic's arm as if the gesture were to keep them both steady. 

"_ Sh, sh, shh...," _ Ratchet breathed, quickening the pace. " _ Easy now... _" With his free servo, he softly urged Optimus to lie back down against the examination table, then doubled his efforts by adding a third digit. 

Optimus melted the moment Ratchet's fingers fanned out, spreading him flawlessly while bumping into every cluster of sensor nodes they came across. He arched up from the table with a groan. Despite Ratchet's best attempts at keeping him still, he found a way to rock against the medic's hand. Thankfully, Ratchet permitted it. 

When the fourth digit wormed its way inside, Ratchet mistook the sudden surge of lubricant for the Prime's overload. His brief pause earned a whine from Optimus, his valve pulsed hungrily, desperately. Ratchet made up for his error by rubbing his digits firmly against his ceiling node in fast, tight circles, mimicking the motion with his thumb on the swollen anterior node. 

"R-Ratchet! _ N-nh-! _ I-I'm close!" Optimus panted, helm lolling to the side as he gripped the edges of the table.

"Yes, I can tell." Ratchet replied, churning his digits. "Your calipers haven't stopped clenching... sensor nodes engorged... internal temperature rising..." 

It (usually) didn't bother Optimus whenever Ratchet started using medical jargon during interface, but this was one instance where he would've preferred to hear something a little lewder. The Prime turned to face him, but instead of seeing Ratchet's visage, he saw Dreadwing's. The blue flyer bent over him, whispering sweet-nothings into his audial. The Decepticon's intake was hot on his neck while he pumped his claws, lubricant squelching from around them with each thrust. 

Optimus' optics flashed. With a gasp, he spasmed; valve cycling down tightly around Ratchet's fingers. His sensory-network crackled and burst with pleasure: white-hot and gratifying. And Ratchet - bless his spark - continued working his digits, despite by the gush of lubricant that nearly forced them out.

Slowly, as Optimus' overload diminished, Ratchet stilled his hand. He waited patiently, yet anxiously for the last of the Prime's charge to pass through him. Unlike Optimus, Ratchet didn't have the luxury of reveling in the fulfillment of pleasing his partner. While he hadn't received a request for a ground-bridge yet, he wasn't willing to chance it, what with Optimus rendered in such a heightened, lewd state. 

As soon as he felt Optimus decompress around him, Ratchet carefully slipped his fingers from the messy valve; a thick glaze of lubricant generously coated them. Leaving the Prime to his savor the remnants of his charge, Ratchet wiped his servo clean with a piece of cloth. 

While Ratchet was busy destroying the evidence, Optimus gradually regained his composure. He had surprised himself, what with imagining Dreadwing being the one to bring forth his overload. He sat up just as Ratchet returned to his side with a fresh stack of cleaning cloths, disinfectant spray, and a cube of energon. 

"Drink this," Ratchet ordered, then proceeded to wipe away the stains left behind on the Prime's inner thighs. 

Optimus sipped at the cube, grateful for Ratchet's care (and his experienced servos). Once deemed clean enough, the medic shooed him off the examination table. The wobbly-legged Prime stood off to the side, leaning against one of the cabinets for support, while Ratchet hastily sprayed the disinfectant and promptly dealt with the puddle of lubricant.

"Thank you, Ratchet." Optimus sighed, content, and thankful.

Ratchet mumbled something as he rotated his wrist, rubbing at it tenderly, "Any time, Optimus-," he caught himself, "-Not _ anytime _, I mean-- let's try not to make a habit of these things, shall we? I'd like a little more warning next time." 

Optimus smiled, nodding in agreement, "Believe me, I wasn't anticipating it either." 

"Anticipating what? Your '_ heat-cycle' _ or your _ encounter _ _ with Dreadwing _?" There was a sharp, knowing tone in Ratchet's voice. Optimus avoided the medic's eyes, aware that he couldn't mislead his most trusted friend. 

It was best to change the topic. Optimus cleared his throat, "The energon signal I was following was... peculiar." 

"Peculiar?" repeated Ratchet. He followed Optimus over to the central computer, sparing the examination table one last look, just to be sure it appeared as clean and sterile as they had initially found it.

Optimus nodded. He plugged his energon-scanner into its docking station on the control board, feeding the computer the data it had gathered. Where the results should have been able to pin-point the energon cache's exact location, the machine only produced an estimation as to where in the section of mountains it could be hidden. The numbers never stopped fluctuating, even after the scanner finished uploading its contents.

"Strange," Ratchet tilted his head, "It's almost as if the data's corrupt. A faulty scanner, perhaps?" 

"It is hard to say," Optimus said, "I would like to investigate the area again. The scanner detected _ something, _ and I would like to find out _ what _ before the Deceptions do." 

"I'll alert the rest of the team to converge on your last set of coordinates."

"That won't be necessary," Optimus interjected, "It would be best if I went alone - less of a chance for Megatron's surveillance units to discover our whereabouts."

Ratchet huffed, his hands on his hips, "Well, if that's what you want, then I suggest you should rest now before your _ heat-cycle _returns. You can go tonight, once the children are away and the rest of the team has returned to base."

Optimus smiled sheepishly, "Right, of course. Thank you, Ratchet," a beat, "... for understanding." 

Just before Optimus could turn to leave, Ratchet's servo held onto his shoulder. The Prime looked down at his medic, Ratchet's expression was soft, yet pressing. 

"Optimus, I hope you know what you're getting yourself into," he muttered, "... he _ is _a Decepticon." 

"Ratchet, old friend, you have enough to worry yourself with." Optimus rested his servos on Ratchet's shoulders, rubbing the armor with his thumbs. "Rest assured; I know what I'm doing." 

A doubtful Ratchet said no more as he returned to his post and listened to Optimus' footsteps disappear down the corridor. 


End file.
